


To All the Wizards I've Loved Before

by bamsarrow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by To All The Boys I've Loved Before, POV Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pining Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29654430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamsarrow/pseuds/bamsarrow
Summary: The one where Hermione Granger writes secret love letters (well, not actuallylove) to counter her depression after the War, and spirals when they are accidentally owled to their recipients- including one Draco Malfoy who she absolutely, positively, irrevocably doesn't hold any semblance of affection for, thank you very much.OrThe one where Draco Malfoy is determined to cause immense jealousy to one Pansy Parkinson after he witnesses her snogging the pants off of Michael Corner (really,Corner?), so that when he receives a love letter (yes, aloveletter, Granger) from an unexpected source, he decides to use it to his advantage in order to better his romantic circumstances.OrA dramione fic inspired by To All the Boys I've Loved Before
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	To All the Wizards I've Loved Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Hermione writes the letters.

__

_"Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light."_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

Hermione Jean Granger was sat at the most secluded table in the most deserted section of the Hogwarts' library. The table in question was significantly minuscule in comparison to the tables found in the more frequently visited parts of the library. The small wooden structure was just considerable enough to house three textbooks, five sheets of blank parchment, one quill and respective ink pot, a brown leather shoulder bag, and two packs of Crystallized Pineapple. Hermione was used to the clutter. She had used this particular table to study, write, and ponder for the majority of her time at Hogwarts. When Harry and Ron did happen to join her, they would sprawl out easily at one of the more popular tables to the front of the library. This table, however, was one of Hermione's own small sanctuaries.

The section that housed her refuge was that of Arithmancy. Most students that attended the Wizarding school preferred to predict their futures with Divination, a fact that Hermione didn't quite fathom. The magical properties of numbers and their corresponding charts seemed to be an exceedingly more accurate and scientific way to _See_ what predestined event would transpire. The young witch also appreciated the similarity between Arithmancy and Muggle Mathematics. The subject offered her a sense of security and nostalgia that she had craved while being so terribly far from home. She still found solace with the subject, possibly even more so now that all ties had been severed between her family and her childhood residence.

Wendell and Monica Wilkins were safe from the War and had no recollection of ever living in England or having a daughter. Hermione had modified their memories as a necessary precaution before starting her journey with Harry and Ron to find the remaining Horcruxes in order to defeat Voldemort. It had been more than a year, and the thought that Hermione would never again see or hear from her parents was always at the forefront of her mind. The War had left many scars for all the survivors, but losing her parents was the deepest that Hermione had to bear. This scar was one of the many reasons she had began seeing a Muggle therapist.

Her parents had been dentists before moving to Australia and opening up a pastry shop. They had always been firm believers in Muggle science, even after being informed of their daughter's magical abilities. They had preached to Hermione the importance of taking care of one's mind, body, and soul through the healing knowledge found in medicine, nature, and psychology. Both of her parents had visited a therapist of their own fairly regularly before, and often offered to find Hermione one of her own- incessantly so once she'd received her first Hogwarts' letter.

"What's the point in seeing someone I can't communicate with about my problems?" She had inquired at the time.

"Sometimes it just feels good to talk to someone, Hermione." Her dad had explained.

"Even if you can't tell them what's going on, you can process how you feel," agreed her mother.

Processing how she felt was exactly what Hermione needed to do. After the War, she had began her battle with depression. The losses that she endured coupled with a complete lack of direction and purpose had sent Hermione on a journey of self discovery. She didn't have a significant purpose anymore. The Dark Lord had been defeated. Harry and Ron were safe- well as safe as they could be with their ingrained disposition for instigating trouble. And even though The Golden Trio had accepted the request to attend their "Eighth Year," Hermione knew that the course load was merely circumstantial to graduating. She didn't expect either of them to have any problems. Who would fail out the saviors of the Wizarding World?

So Hermione took her loss and lack of purpose to a Muggle therapist. She knew, just as she did when she was eleven, that she would never be able to divulge her true trauma- but she also knew Dr. Wright would be able to offer various coping mechanisms. They had met a total of five times so far, once every week. Hermione had been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and a slight case of PTSD.

These were all terms to which the Muggle-born was familiar. She felt the diagnosis was fairly accurate, given what all she had been through the past several years as well as the toll it had all taken on her body and mind. What she didn't quite understand was the treatment in which she was being provided.

Dr. Wright had advised her medication and had even supplied a list of licensed psychiatrists who would gladly see her and fill her vanity with various bottles of synthetic happiness. This was a route Hermione didn't want to take. She knew there was a great risk involved combining Muggle medicine with Wizarding potions. And Hermione was done taking risks, if she could at all help it. So her therapist offered another option, one that in Hermione's view was rather elementary: journaling.

The witch reached into her bag of sweets before lightly gripping a piece of her Crystallized Pineapple and popping it into her mouth. The flavor gushed out onto her tongue. The sugar covered gelatin was sweet and tangy, with traces of sour throughout. Enjoying the candy was a nice distraction from the task at hand.

Hermione had never been much of a free writer. She preferred the structure of an essay over the ramblings and incoherent thoughts that came with keeping a journal. But she was willing to try, for herself and for the people whom she loved that were still in her life. So she accepted the challenge on the condition that Dr. Wright provide her with writing prompts. They had agreed on the compromise.

This compromise is what brought Hermione Jean Granger to be sat at the most secluded table in the most deserted section of the Hogwarts' library. Her first writing prompt was to write letters. She would write to five people who had impacted her life in a positive way. The letters wouldn't be sent. She was to keep them as a tool for self therapy. Any time her depression dragged her down into the pit it so frequently did, she would read over her words and know that the world wasn't all dark- there was light and love within her. And all she needed to do was remember.

Under the advice of Dr. Wright, Hermione decided to write the letters that would remain unsent to five of her peers to which she'd held a semblance of affection. Well, not really affection. She had picked boys that she'd fancied, admired, envied, learned from, and loved. The process required her to be honest- if she wasn't, the letters wouldn't hold the significance that they were required to in order to truly help her. So instead of writing them in her shared dorm, she'd chosen to bring her feelings to parchment in the Arithmancy section. Hermione would need all the privacy she could get while tackling her inner demons.

At first, the recommendation had seemed like a load of bollocks. How would writing fake letters really help her?

But she tried to remember this was only a first step in her recovery. Mental illness couldn’t be cured overnight, magic or not. And realistically Hermione knew that there really wasn’t a cure at all. She wouldn’t disillusion herself into hoping for one. The best she could hope for would be to find a healthy way to cope and find a balance in order to continue on living with her trauma.

For that, she was willing to try almost anything.

She picked up her feathered quill and carefully dipped the pointed tip into the black ink pot. She inhaled a deep breath before marking the blank parchment with her tight, slanted writing.

Her first letter would be to Harry.

It would be the easiest and hardest letter to write, for Hermione had to be honest- honest to herself and to the parchment. And if she was honest to both, she would finally admit that she held an affection for Harry- a devotion that surpassed the current platonic relationship they held.

The truth was, Hermione had always loved Harry. He was the most amazing person she'd ever known. He was enduring and tragic all at once and this had caused Hermione to become unrelentingly loyal to him.

Harry was the boy she'd always wanted to call hers. She cared for him through every action she'd taken: helping him with his mountains of homework, sharing in the experience of coming from the Muggle world to the Magical, risking her life and limbs to aid him in the defeat of Voldemort.

It had all been the right thing to do, sure, but more than that, she'd done it all because she loved him.

Her quill shook in her hand as it made contact with the unraveled scroll.

_My Dearest Harry,_

_You've known for some time now that I've held a sort of affection toward you. But what you aren't aware of is the extent of said affection._

She paused and began to chew on the end of her quill.

This was harder than she thought- even just admitting these feelings on paper to herself. Years of bottling up her unrequited love had conditioned her to avoid this subject at all cost. For the sake of her feelings as well as Ron's.

It had been obvious from the start how Ron had felt toward Hermione. Everyone within 100 kilometers could see those big brown puppy dog eyes every time Ron even so much as thought of her. This had put an enormous amount of pressure on the young witch- especially since his family had already taken her in as one of their own. Molly Weasley made it very apparent at every given opportunity that she not only approved of their coupling, but desired for it to turn into something more concrete.

Hermione had done a decent enough job remaining coy and feigning ignorance in regards to the red head's feelings; however, she would be dishonest to say she hadn't felt a piercing pain of jealousy during sixth year when Lavender Brown snogged his face at every waking moment. The emotion had come as a shock to her. At no point in time before had she even entertained the idea of having any sort of feelings for Ron. It had taken her a long time of self reflection to understand that she didn't actually care for Ron is that way. She had just grown used to the attention from him, and having that attention transfer to another- well, she hadn't handled it well.

And then there was the debacle that occurred in the Chamber of Secrets the year after. In the heat of the moment-when she knew there was a significant chance that either one or both of them could end up dead, Hermione had gone against every intellectual bone in her body and kissed him. Well, she had snogged the pants off him really. It was a mistake she had been trying to amend ever since.

The puppy eyes had come back in full force, and it almost broke her heart to turn him down- repeatedly. But that's what she had done. Her constant rejection hadn't swayed him, however, not really. He still adamantly believed they were destined for one another and swore he would wait as long as it took for Hermione to realize it too.

It would destroy him to know that she carried the affection he so craved for his best friend. So Hermione had vowed never to act on her feelings. She would keep them bottled up and live with the repercussions for as long as she lived. It felt wrong to even betray her vow in a secret letter.

She took another deep breath before continuing.

_I love you, Harry. I've loved you for years._

_You are the light in this world. Even before you quite literally defeated the darkness, you helped me defeat the darkness within myself- day after day. I'm forever indebted to you for that, which is why I could never express these feelings to you- not really. I wouldn't place that burden on you. It is mine to bear and mine alone. So I'll keep this secret for us. Away from Ron and the rest of the world._

_I honestly can't remember the day I first started to love you. It's like it happened all at once, fast and too quickly to even pinpoint. What I do know is you're the first person I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I worry about as I lie awake at night. When I close my eyes and picture what my life will be like five, ten, thirty years from now, I always see your bright emerald eyes staring back at me and your ridiculous hair that really needs a good brushing. But who am I to judge one's hair? It's just another silly thing we have in common, you and I._

_We both also love with our whole hearts. That's how I know this isn't just a crush- this isn't some passing phase that I just need to wait out. This is my destiny, it always has been. I will love you quietly from afar for the rest of my life._

_You will always be my light._

_Always, Hermione_

The witch sighed in relief.

It wasn't much. It didn't even take up a full sheet of parchment. But she imagined it would be enough to get her through.

She was proud of herself. She had written what she felt would be the hardest letter. Unrequited love was such a cliche, and she hated the fact she was undeniably involved in such a thing. But now, she could accept it and do her best to move forward. And thanks to this letter, she would always have the memory of it to hold onto- to help get her through. She would always have Harry's light.

Hermione folded the letter. She pulled a blank envelope out of her satchel on the petite table and carefully secured the letter between its folds. She quickly scribbled in her slanted writing ' _Harry Potter'_ before tucking it away back into her bag.

She shifted her weight to the back of her chair, slightly tilting the chair on its hind legs.

Now, she only needed to figure out to who else she would be writing a confidential letter.

She refused to write one to Ron. Their relationship was something with which she had already come to terms. Writing a letter to him would be an easy way out, and Hermione never liked feeling like she'd sold herself short.

Hermione had always admired Neville, however.

Since first year when he'd gathered the courage to ask for help in looking for his lost toad, Hermione had known Neville was brave. His bravery had only been molded and perfected throughout the years. He stood up to the Golden Trio that night in the Gryffindor Common Room, standing up for his House and the points he knew the group would certainly lose breaking curfew. Hermione almost hadn't had the heart to body bind him.

Then, there was the moments in second year when he had refused to let Hermione wander the corridors of the castle alone, afraid she would become the next Muggle-born victim of the monster from the Chamber. He had always pretended to have a question about homework or that he needed advice on his wand work, but she had known the truth and had been grateful for his company all the same- even if it didn't actually prevent her from getting attacked.

There had been other instances as well: he stood up to Umbridge and withstood every single torture the atrocious woman subjected him to, he conquered his fear of dueling on the dusty floor of the Hog's Head during the DA meetings, and he even aided the Trio by severing the head of Voldemort's last horcrux, Nagini.

Yes, Hermione admired Neville Longbottom, and for that, he deserved a letter. If Harry was her light, Neville would be her courage.

She dragged a new piece of parchment from the small stack at the top of her desk until he was poised in front of her, ready and waiting to be marked with her next confession.

_Dear Neville,_

_There is no one alive today that I admire more than you._

_Your bravery and selflessness could never be outmatched in my eyes. No matter what trying times you face, you always manage to persevere. You shine no matter the light shed on you._

_Your magical plants- they're such an accurate metaphor for your own life, Neville. You relate to them in a way you can't relate to others. Much like your beloved Devil's Snare, you thrive in the darkness of the background and recoil from any praising light shed on you. Your bravery and compassion coils around those around you. We can't help but be entranced by you and your nature, just like the tendrils and vines of the Snare._

_Don't hide away from the light. You deserve every accolade and recognition that comes your way. You played a key role in defeating the most dangerous wizard of our time, don't forget that._

_I know I've not yet had the time or energy to properly thank you for all that you've done for me and the people I love. But you should know- you're a part of that group, the group of people I love. I love you in such an obvious way. You have become one of my dearest friends, and I will always remain grateful you stumbled into my solitary compartment on the Hogwarts Express that faithful day._

_Thank you, Neville, for helping me always find the courage within myself._

_Yours truly, Hermione_

She popped another sweet into her mouth as a reward for finishing a second letter. The more she wrote, the easier it had become to convey her thoughts and emotions.

Maybe free-writing wasn’t so bad after all.

Next would be Michael Corner.

He was a Ravenclaw for a reason. Hermione had never met someone as enthralled with academics until she had crossed paths with Michael in Transfigeration in year three. He was studious as most Ravenclaws were; however, Michael surpassed them all with his quick wit and creative problem solving abilities.

Hermione had discovered this when she had partnered him for a project in which they needed to transfigure a teacup and saucer into a pair of rodents. Hermione had struggled to get the creatures the right coloring- each of her attempts had resulted in the mice having the same blue markings as the china.

Michael had been the one to discover the solution. It was simple, just an extra flourish of her wrist was all it took to leave the mice snowy white, but it was an addition that Hermione would've never found herself. There had been nothing in McGonagall's instruction or the textbook to suggest the change. He had deduced it all on his own, with that brilliant mind of his. Ever since then, Hermione had been envious.

Her brain didn't work that way. She was pragmatic and practical. She never much cared for creative solutions when the tried and true equations had always worked. They were, after all, tried and true for a reason. So when she had attempted to replicate his way of thinking, she had failed miserably.

Michael Corner would get a letter. It would remind her to always think of creative solutions, even if the problems were mundane. She needed the encouragement and motivation to step away from her intellectual comfort zone.

_Michael,_

_I'm in awe of your mind._

_You process information and create solutions in such a way that I've become undeniably envious. I've never been one for creativity. My knowledge comes straight from books, and when I'm faced with a problem, I resort to them to find an answer._

_You, my dear Michael, are not that way. You are fascinating to watch. I've studied you from afar and still feel as though I'm no closer to finding exactly what it is that makes you tick. You are intelligent, which is true of every Ravenclaw. But no other of your House has captivated me in the way you do._

_I wish I were more like you. I wish I had your pure and unadulterated thirst for knowledge. I used to, before the War. Now, I've seemed to have lost my way. Books no longer satisfy my craving. But you, you've always persisted in your pursuit. You never had a Dark Lord to motivate you to achieve. You've always been purely motivated by your own desire._

_I'm so envious of your life and mind, it hurts. You will go on to do great things. And I will be here, striving to become more like you._

_Hermione_

This one had hurt Hermione's pride. She wouldn't ever admit these feelings to anyone. The Brightest Witch of Her Age shouldn't be jealous of someone like Michael Corner. The logic just wasn't there. He wasn't top of the class- she was. But it wasn't that. She no longer cared about any of the pomp and circumstance. She wanted to think like him- to be so enthralled with learning that nothing else mattered. She didn't know if that would ever be the case for her again. Her life would never be that simple.

She begrudgingly reached for another pineapple drop, but let it fall back into the bag as soon as her fingers clasped around it. Suddenly, she had lost her appetite.

Oliver Wood would also be addressed a letter.

It was a surprise to herself that she'd even thought of him. But when Hermione imagined what kind of person she wanted to be, when she imagined what she needed to have in order to get her through her dark times- she knew she needed to have the passion that only Oliver Wood possessed.

Quidditch was everything to Wood. Hermione had never seen anyone approach anything with such reverence. Even though she didn’t care for the sport in the slightest, she was able to recognize the drive and determination it took in order to command a champion Quidditch team.

The last she had heard, Wood had taken his talent and passion to the World Cup. He’d been a shoe-in for the open Keeper position on the Montrose Magpies, and Hermione guessed he would soon set his sights on acquiring the Captain position once Heather McKneely stepped down.

It was Wood’s passion and drive that warranted him a letter. Hermione could only hope to possess the same sort of characteristics when she decided what career she intended to pursue after Eighth Year. 

_Dear Wood,_

_You and I never spoke much while you attended Hogwarts. You were too busy barking orders at the Quidditch team, unsurprisingly._

_But none of that matters. We never needed to speak. I only needed to_ see _you in order to know what kind of person you are. You radiate passion. It's something that can't be helped or hidden- not that you should or would try. It's by far your best asset. And it's never been something I could ignore._

_I'm enamored by your determination. No matter the odds stacked against you, you manage to drive your way through them. You're not always successful, but your perseverance is never wavered regardless. No matter how badly beaten, you rise up- ready and willing to take on your next battle._

_Don't ever lose it, that passion of yours. It makes you utterly remarkable._

_Sincerely, Hermione_

She had truly considered adding in a bit about his thick Scottish accent- the one that sent shivers up and down her spine, but ultimately decided against it. Her semi-attraction for him really had nothing to do with the purpose of the letter. Thinking of Oliver Wood's voice wouldn't keep her from spiraling.

Hermione gave her head a little shake before tilting her chair back once again. She held her quill tightly in her hand as she pondered the best way to tackle her next task.

Her final unsent letter would be for the darkness inside her- the darkness that constantly threatened to spill over and devour everything.

It would serve as a warning, an admonition to remind Hermione what the darkness can cost if she ever unleashed it to reek havoc upon her life. The letter would address the loss, the suffering, the betrayal- everything that had occurred because of the War. It would force Hermione to recall the consequences of her actions as well as the actions of others. The destruction, the trials, the misguided convictions, the victory: it all would be remembered through this letter.

The boy it would be inscribed to had seen it all and caused a good majority of it.

He had once held the world in his pale, pointy hands: top student in his House, infamous Seeker for his Quidditch team, a trail of willing girls following behind every step he took, and all the wealth and vital relations one could need to really make a name for themselves. He had done just that- but not in the way Harry, Ron, or even Hermione had.

He had been on the wrong side of the War, and it had cost him everything. His family name that once held such respect and decorum was now nothing more than lint accumulated in her pocket. He had failed both sides which resulted in him being an outcast to each:

The light didn't want him, not after his blotched murder attempt and numerous acts of violence he'd unleashed upon his peers.

The darkness wouldn't claim him, finding him to be nothing more than a sniveling coward who only cared about his own well-being instead of the success of the cause.

His mother was a betrayer, his father nothing more than a mere shell of a man, locked away for the foreseeable future. And he was left alone to try and piece back together all the shattered fragments of the life he once knew.

Yes, he would serve as a warning- the tragedy he found himself in. Hermione would document it all and try her best to be compassionate about it, in order for her future self to relate and understand her life hadn't become that- wouldn't become that.

This letter, the letter to remember her darkness and the darkness in others- would be addressed to Draco Malfoy.

She hesitantly brought her quill to paper and a small sighed escaped her lips as she began writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s finally here- my first Dramione fic! I’m ecstatic about this work. It's going to be fluffy and humorous while still tackling very serious matters for Hermione and Draco both.
> 
> If you like what you’ve read so far, please leave a kudo and comment. They truly mean the world to me. 
> 
> xoxo, Sam


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